The House was Haunted
by princessludwig
Summary: Warning for ghosts/supernatural occurrence. The real estate agent said the house was haunted. Feliciano Vargas did not believe in ghosts. Gerita. germany/italy.


The real estate agent said the house was haunted. Feliciano Vargas did not believe in ghosts.

Feliciano bought the house in December, and planned on moving in the following January, though the real estate agent had again warned him German winters were a lot colder than what he was used to in sunny Venice. The house was an old 19th century manor, complete with walled walkways and gardens, the stones overgrown with the remnants of moss, which Feliciano was told grew back every spring. The last time it had been occupied was in 1972, and since then it had only increased the number of myths shrouding it, and decreased the price in an attempt to sell. And it had to be sold, the last of the original Beilschmidts had died in 1933 at the age of eighty-six, and his will had practically demanded the house be sold and occupied to appease the spirit of his youngest brother. There was never much of a story to the Beilschmidt family besides this, and Feliciano assumed the old man had gone senile by the time he wrote his will and only imagined spirits. Ghosts and spirits and haunted house were childish things, and if such an old, majestic, grand manor was for sale for that dirt cheap, well, Feliciano was going to jump on it.

Feliciano Vargas himself was twenty-two, having completed a four year university a year prior, he'd been searching for just a place as this. Feliciano himself was of spindly, sleek build; not without muscle, but appearing very lean and he was rather short at only 172 centimeters, but he'd met men shorter. His hair was always clean though it was wild in nature, copper curls illuminated brilliantly by the sun. He was what you'd call a real lady's man, and his amber eyes always shone with fascinating passion and fire, he was regal; quite fitting his new home. It was large, spacious, and absolutely gorgeous, and from his several visits he'd seen only minor damage to the interior, nothing that couldn't be fixed with some dusting and new coats of finish. The original furniture was all there too, it was said the last Beilschmidt was extremely adamant about providing for his younger sibling, who the neighbors had a hard time convincing him had died a long time ago. It didn't matter much to Feliciano. He had the whole house to himself and to his faithful cat, of course, and he didn't have to furnish anything himself.

Feliciano would not be deceived by the superstitious musings of lesser men, but something did seem off as he entered the house for the first time, alone. As Feliciano began to unpack his belongings from his car, he thought he heard a couple tiny coughs and sighs. At last, a thin, small voice spoke, sounding like a shy child standing above his shoulder.

_Um, hello there? You are the new owner of this house I presume?_

Feliciano was startled, looking around for the source of the voice, "Yes, hello there, I'm Feliciano, who might you be?"

_Um. Well, I don't want to scare you off but…I was hoping you could help me. _

Feliciano was confused, but decided it must be some kid looking for shelter in the pseudo-abandoned home, "Where are you? You can come out, you know, you don't have to be scared of me!"

_Technically, I am everywhere in this house and I don't really know, but also I am stuck in the wall of the third story closet last door on the left. Please help. _

Feliciano shook his head, "How long have you been in there? Are you alright? How can I hear you so clearly?"

_Like I said, I'm also everywhere. But anyway, I've been here since 1972, the last owners sealed me inside the walls before they left so I wouldn't be a bother. It's very lonely up here._

"That's impossible!" Feliciano exclaimed, "You sound so young, not to mention you couldn't have survived for forty years if you were really trapped. Why don't you just come out and tell me what's really happening. I promise not to hurt you. How old are you?"

_Can't remember. I think I was twenty in 1871, yes, that's when I died. _

"Oh, so now you're claiming to be born in 1851? And you expect me to believe you lived in this house or the closet for 160 years?! What do you take me for? Just come out already."

_I'm sorry. Please don't leave me. I'm not lying. My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, born October third of 1851, died October third of 1871 on my twentieth birthday. Except clearly I'm not really dead, since my body is still here and I'm talking to you. Please, you have to believe me._

"Goodness gracious!" The brunet shouted in a fit of rage, "What more do you want me to believe? You're an undead spirit cursed by some witch? You're not even human? Do you think I'm some kind of brainless idiot?!"

_Please don't go. I'm not lying. You have to believe me. You need proof? Check the third story hall closet. Please. I need your help. _

"I refuse. You must come down here."

With that utterance, the voice changed pitch drastically, rising into an ungodly, unearthly shrieking wail, screeching like it had been murdered a thousand times over, begging, crying for Feliciano to do something, anything to appease it.

_You can't go. I won't let you. You must believe me! Please, help me!_

The door slammed shut and the lights flickered, and Feliciano's confusion grew, as well as a new, terrifying fear of this…this _thing_. "If you're really undead, how can I even help you?!" he yelled back at it.

_There's a wrought iron crowbar under the kitchen sink. Bring it with you to the third story hallway closet, and I'll show you where to break the wall. Please._

Feliciano could not understand why the thing was begging him, but he did as it said, climbing the creaking spiral staircase up to the third floor.

_The last door on the left. Open it, there's a little ceiling lamp inside. On the back wall you should see a discoloration about two meters high and a meter wide. That's where you should pry the wallpaper off. But be careful, you might hurt me._

"How come it's so quiet then, if you're really behind this wall?" Feliciano questioned the disembodied voice, "Shouldn't you be making a racket back there?"

_I can't. Please, just help me get out, once you've done as I say you'll be rid of me, and both you and I can live peacefully. Please, don't go now. _

Feliciano had a choice, but at the same time, he had no other choice. He gently began to peel the wallpaper back, revealing a dark hollow behind it. The drywall here was new, that was what had caused the discoloration. The more of the hollow space he uncovered, the more uneasy he became. Only when the dastardly work was complete did the brunet revel in the product of his labor.

A body was propped between the studs of the wall, blue eyes unseeing, blonde hair tussled and half slicked back, muscular torso unmoving. Its face was hollow and empty, devoid of emotion, it was clearly dead. Feliciano felt his throat closing in.

_Feliciano? You won't leave me here will you? You have to burn it. Then I'll be gone forever. You have to. You must. Don't leave me all alone again!_

The real estate agent said the house was haunted. Feliciano Vargas did not believe in ghosts, but now he was reconsidering.


End file.
